


Say Something (I'm giving up on you)

by orphan_account



Series: Nothing can tear us apart [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Merthur Party, Team Red
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 09:11:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1105033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The truth of the matter is that Merlin is hollow, detached and lonely. Every passing day is a replica of the one before, and is bound to be a template for the next. Monotony has taken over Merlin’s life, and he is too exhausted to care."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Say Something (I'm giving up on you)

**Author's Note:**

> This prompt is for the Merthur Party.
> 
> Prompt 5 - Not The End

Merlin shudders as the bitter draft travels up his shirt and makes a home on the crest of his pastel skin. He clutches a lukewarm mug of coffee with both quivering hands, and watches the swirls so intensely that it’s almost as if he’s gawking into the deepest corners of a blackened soul – his blacked soul. The truth of the matter is that Merlin is hollow, detached and lonely. Every passing day is a replica of the one before, and is bound to be a template for the next. Monotony has taken over Merlin’s life, and he is too exhausted to care.

Time is unwavering without Arthur, and it doesn’t help that his body refuses to age, or that he cannot die. Merlin has dreamt of death many a times. He feels it disseminating throughout his entire body; it’s lurking presence boundless and indestructible. It came to a point where Merlin had stopped trying to eradicate it, and decided to kindle it instead. He’d tried to die, god how he tried, it just always refused to work.

But despite the fact that he hasn’t aged a day, Merlin doesn’t look much like, well, _Merlin_ anymore. The scarlet has drained from his lips, and dark patches have settled above his prominent cheekbones. His shockingly bright and mesmerising blue eyes are now lustreless and dead; the blue now non-existent, the grey undertone dominating any hint of colour.

Merlin thinks that when he first came to Camelot, he traded oxygen for Arthur. Of course he hadn’t known it at the time. Arthur was a prat, and a clotpole, and a dollophead and a royal arse. But, with time, Merlin and Arthur’s relationship flourished. Merlin found himself needing Arthur’s presence.

Now Merlin sits solemnly on an unstable chair outside his house, waiting for twilight to approach. Every morning for the last 2000 years, as soon as the sun was in sight, Merlin would walk the short distance from his abandoned house to the lake of Avalon, and wait for Arthur’s return.

Of course, Arthur never did return and Merlin hates himself for ever believing he would – for still believing he will.

Merlin exhales deeply as he catches sight of dawn. He takes one last devouring sip of his now cold coffee, and sets it to the side. He places his hands on both sides of the armrest, squeezes his eyes shut and heaves himself up. _This is it,_ Merlin thinks. Heknows how this will play out, he knows Arthur won’t be there waiting for him, he knows he’s wasting his time, he knows hope breeds eternal misery, he _knows_ this; he has two millennia’s worth of proof. But he cannot go without saying good bye; he cannot leave without trying one last time.

And so Merlin takes one last glance at his compact house. He doesn’t linger, or hover, or show any sign of reminiscence. He simply gives it one look, and then turns his back and walks away.

He stumbles a few times as he walks towards the lake. There is no Arthur. There is nothing. He can feel his whole body trembling, his heart palpitating. His chest hurts, there’s a lump in his throat, his mind races.

Merlin looks at his hands, pallid and quivering; he slowly brings them up to his ebony hair and tugs at it violently. He’s screaming now, a deafening choking sound being projected to the rest of the world.

It doesn’t stop. He screams and yells for what feels like an eternity. It takes him a while to realise he’s screaming words.

“ _KILGHARRAH!_ YOU _BASTARD!_ YOU LIED TO ME!”

Merlin crumbles to the floor and gasps for air. He cannot breathe. The tears gush out, infinite; endless. His upper body rests on his knees, his head pressed to the ground. His hands are still weaved into his hair, he’ still taking out the anger and pain on himself. He repeats Arthur’s name in his head, an excruciating mantra. Soon enough, the name splutters out of his mouth. Starting as a whisper, he can barely hear it himself, but it grows and deepens and now he’s screaming again. He’s screaming Arthur’s name.

Subconsciously, he starts drumming his head onto the ground. It pains, but he cannot stop. He feels blood on his forehead, and that only makes Merlin hit even harder.

He lifts his head and looks in front of him at the lake. It’s tinted a golden colour from the sun, and he thinks of Arthur’s hair.

_Arthur._

A whimper escapes him as he slowly crawls forward. He doesn’t know whether the water is cold or not, for he cannot feel, nor does he care.

He keeps going, further and further. Only his head now is above the lake. He turns onto his back, and begins to float.

Merlin looks up at the sky and lets the memories overwhelm him. Everything he’d been holding back, repressing and pushing away, he brings it to the surface now. He lets everything take over.

He allows himself to recall that first day in Camelot; meeting Gaius, meeting Gwen. He remembers the knights. He thinks of his mother, and of the short time he had with his father. He dwells on everything now, every insignificant little detail.

He thinks of Arthur and closes his eyes.

He’s a long way into the lake now. This is the most relaxed Merlin has felt in the last two thousand years. He lets the water kiss him, and he indulges it. He spreads his arms and legs; he wriggles his toes and fingers, and embraces the feeling of floating away.

Merlin opens his eyes now.

He wants to see it.

Merlin whispers a quick spell under his breath, and now he’s falling.

The water devours him, and Merlin’s body is completely rigid. He cannot move an inch; his body cannot fight against the water. He has supressed the reflex of staying alive and Merlin mentally hurts himself for not thinking of this sooner.

He’s falling.

Deeper and deeper into the water; Merlin feels lighter and lighter.

He can feel the life draining out of him as his eyelids close.

He’s falling, falling, falling.

Merlin’s spread arms and legs are hanging limply now; flaccid.

He’s fallen.


End file.
